


pink diamond

by zigur



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Flirting, Gangs, M/M, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24750226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zigur/pseuds/zigur
Summary: Hinata freezes, thoughts coming to a grinding halt as he looks up at the stranger in front of him.To say that the man in front of him ishandsomewould be an understatement, he thinks. And to say that he’ssuspiciouswould be an even greater one.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 29
Kudos: 150





	pink diamond

**Author's Note:**

> i meant to publish this during atsuhina week but oops

The fluorescent glow of the bathroom lights are harsh on Hinata’s eyes as he stares at them through the mirror, entranced. The pattern with which they flicker is distracting, hypnotizing, nearly enough to make him forget the tension coursing through his whole body and the thoughts surfing through his mind. 

It’s strange, the state he’s in—nervous but not quite, teetering around the edges of both anxiety and excitement at once—, but it’s not a new feeling. He’s not used to it at all, but it’s not a new feeling.

How dearly he hopes to never get used to it.

It’s something Hinata cannot fathom: the tragedy of passion turning into nothing but routine. It breaks his heart just to think about it, to consider it happening to him one day, so he tries his best to keep it out of his thoughts. 

He turns his attention back to the mirror, trying to focus on something outside his wandering mind, dragging his eyes from the faulty lights to take in his own appearance. He wonders, at times, how people see him—what they think of the feverish look that’s always present in his eyes when he’s on a job, of the simultaneously vague and too-sharp gaze with which he watches the world. 

It’s not something that occupies much of his thoughts, but on a job like this he can’t help but wonder. 

He’s not the most inconspicuous person around, that’s a fact. Either in personality or in appearance, Hinata tends to stand out a little—there’s nothing common about the burnt orange of his hair, after all, and he can’t keep himself still unless life and death are upon him, demanding motionlessness. 

So why in the world would he be chosen for a job where a low-profile is key?

He _knows_ he doesn’t make for a subtle presence, and Kageyama is even worse than him somehow, a true achievement on his part. The sheer intensity of his presence is enough to alert anyone paying the slightest bit of attention that something’s not right about the two of them, that they’re not people to be paid attention _to_ if one wants to maintain some peace in their life. 

Kageyama is a beacon, same as him, though of a different kind. 

The fact that the two of them are ever chosen to make drops is already astonishing in and of itself—that they were chosen to make _this_ drop is both insane and borderline irresponsible to him, though he’d never say as much to either Sawamura or Sugawara. There’s nothing lowkey about either of them and it doesn’t help that they’re also seemingly incapable of staying out of trouble, though through no fault of their own. 

He could understand, he supposes, assigning them drops when they were newbies and they only carried low-priority cargo—Hinata is never one to think himself above grunt work, knows the importance of proving dedication through mild hardship—, but something like _this_ feels.

Well. 

It’s enough to say that Hinata is as honoured by the amount of faith they have in him as he is baffled by their choices. 

_But then again_ , he thinks just as a knock at the door echoes through the bathroom and startles him out of whatever revelation he was about to have. He barely keeps himself from jumping and slipping on the suspiciously wet floor as he turns his attention to the door, eyes wide and hand edging towards his lower back. 

“Hey, dumbass. Did you die in there?” Kageyama’s voice is muffled by the cheap wood that separates them, but his annoyance comes in electromagnetic waves and finds its way unbridled through whatever it needs to. “Come on already, we have to move.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” He answers, quickly splashing his face with some cold water and grabbing a couple of coarse paper towels to dry himself with. It’s getting colder outside, he remembers, and he’d rather not get sick. 

He spares his reflection one last look before he moves towards the door, catching the feverish gleam in his eyes again and taking a deep breath to try and soften the edges of near-manic glee that tends to overcome him whenever he’s on a job. It never really calms him down all the way, but HInata will take whatever he can get. Working with the momentum provided by his restlessness is something he’s grown used to, but he’s learned that it’s always better to have a certain level of calm before acting. 

He’s not nineteen anymore, after all. 

And he trusts the ones above him to have planned this through, he supposes. If they’re here instead of some seemingly more suited people for the job, there must be a reason that must’ve been taken into account by people with more experience than him, after all. 

And if they’re intercepted, well. 

Hinata takes another deep breath, feeling the scars on his knuckles itch in anticipation, feeling the weight of his gun on his back, cold and reassuring. 

There’s a reason he and Kageyama are a _freak duo_ , after all. 

Kageyama is waiting around the back by where they parked the car when he finally steps out of the bathroom. 

There’s a familiar frown on his face, one Hinata has long grown accustomed to as a permanent fixture of his daily life, and a blue slushie on his hand. He’s not holding any bags and there’s no tension beyond the one natural to him in his posture. 

Hinata relaxes a little. 

“You shouldn’t be drinking that. It’s getting cold and you’re gonna get yourself sick,” He says as soon as they’re within hearing range of each other and watches with amusement as absolute confusion takes hold of Kageyama’s expression for a moment before realisation dawns on him.

“I don’t get sick,” He lies, face unchanged from his usual mix of mild distaste and impassiveness. Hinata narrows his eyes at him, weighing the pros and cons of calling him out on his bullshit; as if the only reason Hinata got sick at all this year after wasn’t because _Kageyama_ got himself a cold and hid it from everyone until the mission they had together was over. The only reason they found out he was sick at all was because he nearly passed out when giving his half of the report—Sawamura had to threaten to bench him to get him to behave like a grown up and get some rest. 

“How can you lie with a straight face like that, asshole,” He mumbles to himself, secure in the knowledge that Kageyama will hear it but refusing to give him time to respond: “Where are the snacks I asked for, by the way?”

“I didn’t get any.” There’s a pettiness to his tone that Hinata is sure is in response to the fact that he just called him out. He knew he’d regret it. 

“What the fuck, Kageyama!” 

“You took too long! I couldn’t remember what you asked for,” He answers, frowning when he takes a sip from his blue slushie. Good, Hinata thinks. He hopes it tastes awful and makes him sick. 

He extends a hand, expectantly. 

Kageyama ignores him. 

“Come on,” He lifts a brow and lets his impatience come through in his voice. Still, Kageyama doesn’t move or look at him. “You know it was your turn to get the snacks. You didn’t get the snacks. So give me the money and I’ll go get them myself,” Kageyama’s expression sours. “Don’t make me tell people about how you made an ass of yourself in front of Kenma last time we met.” 

“Mention that again and I’ll shoot you, I swear to god,” There’s a well-suppressed hint of alarm on his face and Hinata swallows down the urge to laugh as some loose bills are hastily handed to him. “Here, just shut up and go.” 

“I’ll be right back!” He says, turning around and running back towards the convenience store. 

There aren’t a lot of people around—it’s a small town, he supposes, and it’s late enough that even the most unruly of teenagers are already long gone—, but the store isn’t as empty as he thought it’d be. From the door, he can see a couple of men hanging around by the freezers at the back, faces turned away from him as they argue, presumably about what type of drink to get. There’s nothing in their posture that indicates they’d pose any threat, but Hinata is not in the business of being caught off-guard anymore. 

He straightens his back, sharpens his focus and walks into the store. 

The cashier is an uncaring teenager who could not possibly care less if they tried, but he smiles at them anyway, an effort not to appear overly threatening. Hinata’s not under any illusions as to what he looks like—he knows he’s not the most physically imposing person around—, but he’s also keenly aware of the intensity he can sometimes project out into the world, and how intimidating that may be to others. 

Plus, he thinks, it doesn’t hurt to be nice. 

He keeps part of his focus on the guys at the back as he heads towards the snack aisles, vaguely keeping an ear to their senseless argument just in case it turns into something else before turning his eyes to the selection of food in front of him. There’s a good variety of chips, he notices, and he wonders how popular a route this must be for a convenience store to be so well-stocked when the town attached to it is only barely more than a village. 

They’ve taken the long, long road to Tokyo for this drop, going as far out as possible before turning to make their way towards it, just in case they had a tail and it makes Hinata wonder, not for the first time, what exactly they’re carrying with them. What’s so important that requires turning a five hour trip into a nearly a day long affair. 

None of the weapon shipments gave him nearly as much trouble as this, and he drove an actual truck full of guns once. Whatever it is they’re carrying right now is locked inside a box small enough to fit under the front seat of his shitty car. 

But, oh well, he thinks. If they didn’t tell him, then it’s not for him to know. 

He shakes his head, clearing it of any stray thoughts, and turns his attention back to the snacks. 

Not even a full minute passes when his concentration is broken again. 

It’s not actually his fault this time, however—his thoughts are thoroughly dedicated to the spicy seaweed chips in front of him when a large body collides against him, nearly making him lose his balance in the process. 

It’s startling for a number of reasons, most of all because _he did not hear anyone coming_. Regardless of what his mind was stuck on, his focus on his surroundings never dropped—he can still hear the two in the back arguing about what kind of soft drink to get—, so there’s no way someone could have walked in, approached and _bumped into him_ , without him noticing their presence.

His entire body tenses as the realisation that he was just sneaked upon dawns on him, the barely contained instinct to defend himself humming under his skin, waiting for a judgement call. 

“Oh dear,” A voice calls to his left, deep, accented and pleasant but tinged with a feigned sort of friendliness that sends the alarm bells already ringing inside Hinata’s mind into a crescendo. 

He turns to face the speaker, wariness already singing inside his veins even as he remembers to smooth out his expression just in case it’s some incredibly quiet local with a bad attitude and— 

Hinata freezes, thoughts coming to a grinding halt as he looks up at the stranger in front of him. 

To say that the man in front of him is _handsome_ would be an understatement, he thinks. And to say that he’s _suspicious_ would be an even greater one. 

The first thing Hinata notices is the marble cut of his jaw, sharp and strong, followed by the curve of his lips as they twist into a vulpine smile that drips ill-intentions. His brows are dark and thick, and he looks down at him with hooded brown eyes that carry such an intense interest that Hinata can only barely hold down a gasp. 

The incandescent lights behind him cast a golden halo upon his artfully tousled blond hair, making him seem a little unearthly in his wickedness, and the aura of smug superiority he emits is only undercut by the obvious fascination with which he looks at Hinata. 

He’s someone that screams _bad omen_ , from the look in his eyes to the way he’s too well-dressed, in dark fitted clothes that seem expensive even to the untrained eye. 

Hinata is mesmerized. 

“Sorry,” The man says, and his voice is honeyed now. His eyes close as he smiles with something only superficially akin to sincerity. “Didn’t see ya there.”

Hinata blinks. 

His mouth is unreasonably dry all of the sudden, and it’s only when the man opens his eyes and hits him with the same obscenely pointed interest as before that he snaps out of whatever spell he was just put under. 

“Oh,” He says rather stupidly, fighting the urge to blink again. “That’s. Uh, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” 

“If ya say so,” The man smiles again, looking genuine this time but with an undertone of the same vulpine shrewdness as before. “See ya,” There’s a satisfied air about him as he speaks, but Hinata doesn’t have time to dissect it before he’s turning and walking away, leaving him to stare at a broad back as it moves away from him. 

_What the fuck just happened,_ is the only thing echoing in his mind once his thoughts have been kicked back into gear. 

Everything about this interaction felt unreal, like something that would happen in a dream, and Hinata’s single thought shifts towards wondering who in the world did he just run into. Nothing about the man seemed ordinary—not the way he talked, his clothes or his looks—, and the fact that he sneaked up on Hinata, seemingly effortlessly, is concerning to say the least. 

The aftermath of his presence isn’t quite something he knows what to do with, either. 

It makes Hinata feel off balance, shaken, breathless, but none of those emotions feel negative. The way he was being looked at was exhilarating, thrilling; it was as if he had been dissected and was found _worthy_ , admiration given willingly without demanding demonstrations of value. 

Hinata lets out the breath he’d somehow been holding, suppressing the urge to look for the man around the store, to meet his eyes again and try to find answers within them this time. This is not a time for—whatever that was, he reminds himself. 

He’s in the middle of a mission. Kageyama is waiting outside, probably getting more annoyed by the second. 

A shaky breath forces its way out his throat and Hinata turns back to the snacks once again, this time forgoing the trouble of making a careful decision and just picking tree bags of three different colours. He walks to the sweets aisle, does the same with the _Pocky_ boxes and moves towards the single freezer _not_ at the far end of the store, throwing some pink soft drinks, bottles of water and yogurt into a basket he picked up along the way. 

The teenager at the register looks at him with mild disdain but says nothing as they scan his purchases or as they pack them into a bag and take his money. Hinata doesn’t try to smile again, still a little put off by all that happened, but he whispers a thank you before grabbing his bags and leaving the store. 

He takes a deep breath before rounding up the corner, trying to clear it all from his expression and his mind—Kageyama is infuriatingly good at telling when he’s uneasy and he doesn’t wanna have to share that a complete stranger flirting with him left him so ruffled. A complete stranger who moved in absolute silence. 

The last person to sneak up on Hinata had been Kenma.

“Enough,” He tells himself, shaking his head in an attempt to shake the thoughts away. 

Kageyama is still standing by the car when the parking lot comes into sight, attention completely directed at the phone in his hands, blue slushie nowhere to be seen now. Hinata must not have taken as long as he thought he did because he receives no words of reproof when he approaches, only a mildly mystified look. 

“Can we go now?” Kageyama asks, looking down at his phone for a second before locking the screen and putting it back into his pocket. 

“Yep,” He lifts up the bags, showing off his purchases with a smile that’s only half-forced. “I got you some yogurt by the way. Because I’m your friend. Do you see how easy it is? To get something for a friend?” 

“It’s easy when I’m the friend because I don’t ask for extremely specific chips,” 

“All I said was ‘spicy seaweed chips’, it’s not my fault you’re dumb as shit.” He says, moving to put his bags in the backseat of the car, and he hears the intake of breath that would follow Kageyama’s outraged outburst of an answer when everything goes dark. 

There’s no dramatic flickering of lights, no suspenseful build-up—only sudden overwhelming darkness. 

It all happens at once; the street lights around them go out at the same time as the backlights from the store and the distant illumination provided by the gas station nearby. Hinata’s immediate response is to stop, demeanour shifting along with the situation as his instincts kick into gear and he becomes more alert. 

He tries to catch any sound, any movement, any hint that might indicate this is more than just a regular blackout, hand itching to move towards his gun. To his right, Kageyama has gone completely still, seemingly adopting a similar tactic in trying to detect anything uncanny, his posture already one Hinata recognises as precursory of a fight. 

Whatever might have gone unnoticed by him will not escape Kageyama’s sharp mind, so Hinata lets himself relax a little, squinting at the distance to try and catch any glimpse of light. The store sits at a short distance from the town itself, close enough to become a hangout spot for teens, but distant enough that town is barely visible. He sees no hint of it, now; only a horizon completely overtaken by darkness. 

There’s not even any help from the skies, Hinata thinks. It’s a moonless night, and a cloudy one at that—not even the stars are in their favour today, it seems. He hears a huff of frustration next to him, lonely and loud in the darkness, presumably in response to the same realisation. 

And then, for the second time within the hour, Hinata freezes. 

“We have to leave,” The urgency in his voice startles Kageyama out of whatever trance he’d been stuck in and the question about to be verbalised is almost tangible, but there’s no time for that. “ _Now_ , we have to go _now_ ,” Hinata runs, throwing himself over the hood of the car and sliding towards the other side. 

There had been five people in the store, including himself. 

Yet there are no sounds of inquisitive conversations, no steps echo outside. None of the cars he saw parked up front have their engines or lights on, and there are no signs of flashlights shining from the front of the building. 

The store had a bell, Hinata remembers. He did not hear it ring. 

There had been four people inside the store with him—it should not be this quiet. 

“Hinata,” Kageyama’s voice is steel when it echoes on the air around them, the sound of fury restrained into something cold cutting through the silence just as Hinata tries and fails to get the passenger seat door open. 

He looks up just as the lights come back on. 

It’s blinding brightness replacing comforting darkness, and the hand that had been edging towards his gun instinctively moves towards his face, trying to spare his eyes from the pain of sudden luminance. He blinks once, twice, multiple times in an attempt to get his vision back to normal faster, but before the blurry sight in front of him can come into focus, two things happen:

A large gloved hand wraps itself around his wrist, twisting his arm and pushing it into the curve of his lower back—where his gun is supposed to be, where it distinctively _isn’t_ —and rendering his arm useless. 

Hinata snarls, thrashing as hard as he can against the body behind him, searching for any leeway that would allow him to escape, would allow him to hurt before he’s hurt. He twists, desperate for a glance at whoever is holding him down with such apparent ease; is it a known face, maybe someone he’s been briefed on? Someone whose weaknesses he’s learned and could exploit, someone he could threaten?

None of his attempts are successful in getting more than a glimpse of black and white, and before he can try again, try harder, the familiar feeling of a cold sharpness against his neck makes itself known. 

Hinata stills as the edge of a blade presses a gentle kiss onto his skin, the barely there pressure of a threat. 

He finally looks up to see Kageyama on the other side of the car, locked into more or less the same position as him, expression blazing with the intense hatred of someone who loathes being caught off-guard. Their eyes meet for a second, but there’s nothing aside from absolute disdain and fury being conveyed by them, so Hinata turns his gaze towards the stranger holding his friend down. 

A man—nearly as tall as Kageyama himself, dressed in all black and seemingly dripping with wealth if the quality of the haori he's wearing and the leather gloves on his hands are anything to go by. Even the thin stiletto dagger he's pressing into Kageyama's neck seems expensive, silver and ornate in a way only relics tend to be; acquired from a museum or a private collection through less than legal means, he's sure. 

The mask covering his face seems just as expensive as everything else he's wearing, displaying a type of sturdy delicacy in its build that could only come from money. 

It's a kitsune mask, Hinata notes, simple and traditional-looking, though it's clear a lot of work went into its making. Blacks and reds painted onto white with accents of gleaming silver to set it apart—it's very beautiful, though the expression it was given is quite odd. A frown of mild annoyance is not something he's ever seen on a kitsune mask, but he's certainly not about to comment on it. 

He looks down, instead, glancing at the darkened window of the passenger seat. 

Reflected into the glass is a man taller than Hinata by a good deal, probably of height with the one across from them. He seems to be clad in the very same rich clothes—an uniform, perhaps, though it would be quite an unusual one—, down to the gloves on his hands. The dagger, too, seems to be a mirror of the one against Kageyama's throat, though the details on this one appear to be gold, not silver. 

The only significant difference between the two of them seems to lie in the masks. 

Both are kitsune masks, done in the same style and with the same overall colour scheme with the exception of the accents—gold instead of silver; a pattern, maybe. What sets them apart, however, are the expressions. 

Gone is the borderline irritation displayed on the first mask, replaced with a more traditional looking grin that seems overly mischievous even for a kitsune. It turns what would be a traditional mask into something sharper and a little mocking, and Hinata finds himself almost enchanted by it. 

“Alright, then,” The annoyed kitsune says, voice impassive but calm. It’s vaguely reminiscent of Kenma’s voice, if a bit deeper and nowhere near as soft. “I’m sure the two of you know what we’re after and will make this easier on all of us,” 

“Easier than it’s already been, of course,” Smiling Kitsune says, tone a pointed contrast to his companion’s and achingly familiar. There’s an edge of mockery to his words, along with a nearly undetectable hint of excitement, and Hinata stops a curious frown from taking over his face. 

The words conjure a furious snarl from Kageyama’s throat and he thrashes against his captor, pressing himself into the blade like the lunatic Hinata always knew he was. He’s pushed against the car with a lot less aggression than most people would have displayed, a form of containment rather than punishment, and Hinata wonders who in the world are these people. 

“Calm down, damn,” Annoyed Kitsune sounds more confused than angry as he presses Kageyama to the cool metal of the car as if he were an unruly cat refusing to sit still at the vet. 

“Is he feral?” There’s amusement in the voice that comes from behind Hinata, mixed with a healthy amount of disbelief. He lets out an impressed whistle. “And I heard _you_ were the wild one! But I suppose Tobio-kun can’t be too far behind—you _are_ the freak _duo_ , after all.” A huff of laughter and it’s all Hinata can take. 

He _slams_ his head back with all the strength he can muster, straight into where Smiling Kitsune’s nose would have been if not for the mask. 

The loud crack he hears in response is only less satisfying than the pained whine that follows, though neither is as intense as he had been expecting them to be. At no point does the grip on his wrist slackens either, and he can’t help the noise of frustration that forces itself out of his throat.

The knife on his throat presses a bit harder against his skin but only for a second as the man seemingly recovers from the surprise hit, regaining his composure and returning it to its barely-there touch. 

A quiet bout of laughter echoes from across the car. 

It startles both him and Kageyama alike if the confused look on his eyes is anything to go by, but Annoyed Kitsune pays attention to neither of them, shoulders shaking in mirth as he chuckles softly to himself. 

“Thank you so much for that, Hinata-kun,” He says after a while, sounding a little breathless as he speaks. 

“Yer gonna pay for that when we get back!” Smiling Kitsune half-yells, outraged. There’s something so incredibly familiar about the way he spoke, but Hinata cannot pinpoint what. The blade remains gentle against his neck and the sudden realisation that this is nothing but a game for these two dawns on him. 

He holds back the urge to slam his head into the face behind him again; every good will has its limits and he’d rather not test this one's quite yet. 

“If you say so,” There’s not a hint of concern on Annoyed Kitsune’s voice and Hinata feels the warmth of an incensed huff at the back of his neck. “So, this is how it’s gonna go: either you behave and give us what we want or we’ll knock you both down and get it anyway. Which was my original plan, but–”

“It was boring, because Eleven’s turned into an old man overnight and doesn’t know what fun is anymore,” Smiling Kitsune says, a teasing singsong quality to his voice. Hinata’s only slightly ashamed to say that it interests him. He wonders if Eleven is Annoyed Kitsune’s codename—sounds like it. 

“–but Seven–” Smiling Kitsune’s codename, surely. “–is too annoying to deal with when he doesn’t get his way, so we tend to give him what he wants. He’s commensalistic like that.” There’s something akin to exasperated fondness in Eleven’s voice, the exhausted resignation of someone used to dealing with troublesome people. It’s the same tone Sawamura sometimes uses with them, and it makes Hinata ponder on the relationship between the two. 

SIblings, he’d say—they seem to be of similar build, and the voices are similar enough as well. He mentally goes through the catalogue of names and faces he’s memorized, but he doesn’t know of any syndicates with siblings at the top brass. 

The masks don’t ring any bells, either, and surely, word of an operation this eccentric would’ve reached his ears if it was known. Tsukishima or Kenma would have briefed him on it. 

Which means they _aren’t_ known. 

They don’t seem like rookies which means these are not people who usually allow themselves to be seen, Hinata thinks. Which begs the question—why start now? Why the two of them?

“I wanted to play with you,” Seven says, answering the exact question he’d just stumble upon with something low and flirty in his voice, and Hinata tenses both in surprise and mild excitement. He gets the distinct impression that those words were meant for _him_ , though they were spoken loud enough for Kageyama to hear them, and bites down a shiver. “We heard about the freak duo, didn’t we, Eleven?” 

“Hard to find someone in the business of illegality who hasn’t,” Eleven huffs and _business of illegality_. They might not be affiliated with any syndicates at all. “We wanted to at least meet the two of you, I suppose. Seven was certainly interested.”

“No time to actually play, though,” Seven sounds almost upset when he says it and the leather of his glove presses down a little harder as he tightens his grip on Hinata’s wrist for a moment. 

“What is it that you want, then?” Hinata asks, watching Kageyama’s eyes widen as he speaks. He tries to convey his intentions through the brief look he sends his way, but doesn’t risk trying to mouth anything at him—he can’t know where Eleven’s gaze is and doesn’t wanna risk giving himself away. 

“You’re making a drop at Nerima, from Seijoh to the Cats and the Owls. We want the package,” Eleven’s wording is careful, almost like he’s aware that they don’t know what they’re transporting. “Give it to us and we’ll stop bothering you. Simple.”

“What’s keeping you from just killing us and taking it?” Kageyama says and Hinata is relieved to realise he did catch onto his plan. 

“Unlike you crazy kids, we’re not quite in the business of killing indiscriminately,” There’s some derision in Seven’s tone, but there’s no telling if it’s directed at the topic of conversation or just Kageyama specifically. “I mean, we wouldn’t hesitate if you forced our hand, but we generally prefer bluer waters.” Kageyama specifically, then. 

“But really, we just want this package and you can be on your merry way,” Eleven adds and just as Hinata is about to act, to slam his free elbow back into Seven's stomach, he continues: “But since you’re planning something, I guess we’ll have to knock you out, won’t we, Seven?” 

“Yes, we will, Eleven,” There’s a pang of disappointment in his voice, but Hinata doesn’t get to think about it or even follow through with his plan before he feels the very brief sting of a shallow cut on his neck. He looks up at Kageyama to find him just as wide-eyed as he must be, and just in time to see the very thin tip of the dagger slice a small cut on his neck as well. 

“Don’t worry too much, it's just a light sleeping draught,” Eleven says, and there’s a strange reassuring quality to his voice. “We really wouldn’t kill you like that, it’d be pretty low of us—well. Low of me. Seven can’t sink any lower.” 

“I’ll fuckin’ kill ya,” There it is, Hinata thinks blearily, there’s the same voice as before—the same type of painfully familiar accent he cannot get himself to place within his mind. It makes him think of blonde hair for some reason, but he doesn’t know a single person with blonde hair who speaks like that. “But no, I wouldn’t do that to ya. This will just make ya a bit drowsy, maybe get ya to sleep if yer tired.” 

“So you behave while we go through the car,” Eleven steps away from Kageyama slowly as if testing to see if he’ll keep himself upright or just fall to the floor. He seems pleased when Kageyama half-heartedly throws a punch that seems pathetically _lento_ even to Hinata’s now sluggish mind. Eleven puts the stiletto on his hand away—Hinata doesn’t catch where it goes and wonders if he just made it disappear with magic—and reaches into the pocket of Kageyama’s coat, where he knows the keys to the car are kept. 

He then grabs Kageyama himself by the shoulders, ignoring the slurred insults thrown his way, and pushes him to sit on the floor by the streetlight closest to them. 

“You guys suck,” Kageyama says after trying to get himself up and failing. There’s a pout on his face and Hinata can’t hold down a snort of amusement at the sight. “You suck too, dumbass!” 

“Who’d have known Tobio-kun could be this funny?” Seven says as he releases his hold on Hinata, pulling him away from the car with care. Unlike Kageyama, Hinata doesn’t even bother trying to get his arms to cooperate with him. 

“He’s an ass! Thinks he’s cooler than everybody,” Hinata shows his tongue to the general direction where he thinks Kageyama is and hears a mumble of complaint that’s quickly overshadowed by the chortle of laughter Seven lets out at his words. “Ah, that’s a nice laugh!” 

Seven freezes, and Hinata vaguely hears a snicker along with the sound of the car door being opened. 

“Stop flirting with the enemy, dumbass!” Kageyama’s voice makes him frown. It’s none of his business with whom he flirts. 

“Fuck you, I’ll flirt with your mom if I want to, asshole,” Hinata answers, trying to look around Seven, who still seems a bit frozen in place. The snickers grow louder. 

“Joke’s on you, I don’t even _know_ my mom!” 

“That’s not the brag you think it is!”

“Seven, come pick this for me,” Eleven interrupts them, sounding a little frustrated and jolting Seven out of whatever it was that had him locked in place. 

He's gentle as he helps Hinata to the floor, sitting him on the cold concrete of the parking lot next to Kageyama. “Behave,” He whispers next to Hinata’s ear, and the imagined ghost of a warm breath against his skin makes him bite down a gasp.

Seven stares down at him as he rights himself, and the impression that the expression on his face mirrors his mask’s is palpable. He turns, heading back to where Eleven is standing by the hood of the car, and Hinata lets out the breath he had been holding. 

It’s strange, he realises, to think of him—of the both of them, even—as enemies. There’s no doubt in his mind that, at least technically, that is what they are, but something about the word feels too harsh, too grating. Real enemies wouldn’t have treated them the way they did, he thinks. 

Hell, some of their _allies_ don’t bother showing them this much civility. They might've made a name for themselves, but they're both still fairly new in the business and he still gets the feeling that there's something they're not being told for some reason. They're often well-liked, sometimes admired, but rarely truly respected in most circles. 

But these two—they treated them with respect, in a way. Mocking, at times, but never derisive towards them.

Gentle touches and respect.

Maybe that’s just the style with which they do things, but what a strange style it would be, indeed. It can’t be very effective when dealing with people, especially those with more experience and raw power than Kageyama and him. 

In the back of his head, he wonders if maybe they’re just special; Eleven did say that they had been interested in meeting the two of them, after all. It doesn’t explain the careful handling, but maybe they’re just careful people and— _ah,_ he thinks _.  
_

It does fit them well, Hinata’s hazy mind decides. 

They never mentioned a syndicate did they; _business of illegality_ , Eleven had said. Both confirmed that they’re not in the business of killing people, too, and given the unusual nature and importance of this particular drop, it leaves him with one option:

Thieves. 

Of the professional variety, most likely. 

Akaashi-san had mentioned something about the _Conclave_ , but Hinata hadn’t been paying that much attention and Akaashi-san himself didn’t seem to believe it to be anything more than a rumour. A guild of thieves did seem a bit absurd, at the time.

But now—Hinata wonders. 

The loud click of something opening startles him from his thoughts; he hadn’t even realised he’d been essentially ignoring his surroundings. He glances at Kageyama to see him leaning fully back into the streetlight behind him, asleep and breathing softly, before turning his gaze towards the two men by the car. 

The box that had been carefully half-hidden under the passenger seat is sitting on top of the hood of the car, thrown open and facing away from Hinata but emitting a rainbow sort of glow that doesn’t seem the least bit natural.

It's a beautiful sort of light, almost unreal; it seems to light up miles and miles at a distance without losing strengh in its shifting rainbow glow and Hinata finds himself utterly mesmerised by it.

He blinks forcefully, checking to see if his foggy brain is just imagining things, but the glow doesn’t vanish and, for a second, he sees the frown on Eleven’s mask turn into a smile and the crack on Seven's mask shine a bright golden.

“Seems like we’re done here, Seven,” There’s a pleased quality to his voice, and by the time Hinata blinks again, the box is closed and the pearly rainbow light is gone, contained once more. 

“It sure seems like it, Eleven,” Seven chuckles, patting Eleven in the back before stretching his arms above his head. “Time to go, then.” He turns towards where Hinata and Kageyama are sitting, snorting at the frown on the latter’s sleeping face. “He’s gonna get wrinkles like that,” He sounds awfully pleased when he speaks and Hinata startles a bit. He didn’t notice him approaching. 

Seven turns his mask to him, staring him down for another minute. The grin on his mask seems to grow, but there’s a heavy fog of sleepiness settling over him now and he can’t tell for sure. 

“Your mask is cracked,” Hinata mumbles, blinking to clear his vision and frowning when it does nothing.

"It sure is. Thanks to you," There's a smile on Seven's voice, almost as if he's proud that Hinata cracked his mask. Strange, but Hinata finds himself pleased by it anyway.

"I'm not sorry," He says, thinking of how pretty it looked when the crack shone gold.

“I wasn't expecting you to be,” Seven laughs, the same soft little laugh that Hinata had found so nice. “Ya still have a lot to learn, but I'm sure I'll see ya soon, Shouyou-kun,” He says, soft and filled with anticipation. “And next time, I’ll steal ya along as well.” Hinata feels warm and confused at the words, but doesn't have any time to dissect them before sleep finally overcomes him, the sight of a smiling fox following him into his dreams when he closes his eyes. 

When Hinata wakes up, he’ll find himself lying down on the backseat of the car. Kageyama will be sitting uncomfortably in the passenger seat, mouth open as his snores fill the quiet space around them. 

The sky will still be dark outside, and he’ll be confused for a minute or two before the events of the day catch up with him. He’ll wake Kageyama up to talk, and they’ll wonder whether to continue their drive to Tokyo or circle back and go home before calling both Kenma and Sugawara to let them know what happened. 

When he wakes up, he'll deal with the consequences of whatever just happened.

But for now—for now Hinata will dream of foxes. 

**Author's Note:**

> title's from a song by charli xcx! the song itself is completely unrelated to this, it was just what i was listening to when i finished this, but i think the title's cute
> 
> also, its been a hot sec since i wrote fanfic but i hope yall enjoyed it !! please leave me a comment !!
> 
> and i made a writing twt so !!! pls come talk to me (: @[ziguruns](https://twitter.com/ziguruns)


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